Like a Shadow on the Wind
by Tawnykit
Summary: Pregame. Young Yuffe fights bandits and is given reason for introspection. Lesson learned.


Disclaimer: I do not own _Final Fantasy VII_. Never have, prob'ly never will. I've got a couple of ninja, but nothing more.

A/N: This turned out quite different than what I anticipated. Strange, the plotbunnies you can get while doing yard work, isn't it?

* * *

_I will do my ancestors proud tonight._

They were bandits. Big, tough looking thugs who took pleasure in causing pain to others. They stood over the trembling little girl, chuckling menacingly at her feeble attempts at self-defense. Their mocking eyes swept over the shuriken that she held with shaking fingers, focusing instead on her wide, frightened eyes and quivering lower lip.

She fought hard to keep a collected mask over her features, driving back the tears that burned in her eyes. She took deep, calming breaths, taking small steps backward, away from her tormentors. The fight to hold back panic was almost as difficult as the battle against her tears.

_I must not cry. Ninja do not cry!_

One of the bandits stepped forwards. He was their leader, she was sure. Father said that the biggest, meanest of the gang would always be the leader.

"Well, well, boys," the rogue drawled. "What have we here? Lost, are you, honey? Wander a little too far from home?"

She was too terrified to make a sound, unless one counted the thin whimpers that were escaping her lips. It was shameful, and she knew it. Father would be calm and collected in her position. He would be disappointed in her, if he could see her now. Yet she still could not speak.

_"__A ninja is brave, daughter. You must face your fears and act upon them if you wish to join our ranks.__"_

"It's not of'en we get visitors here, is it, boys?" the bandit king continued. "Not to worry. I'm sure we can still offer ye _some_ kind of welcome. I'n't that so?"

Another backward step resulted in her foot catching on a loose stone. Down she fell, to more scornful laughter.

_"__A ninja is graceful, Yuffie. Like a shadow on the wind. So, too, must you be. Your enemies must never know of you until you have already struck.__"_

"Aw, did you take a bad step, honey? Did you hurt yourself? Let me help ye up!"

_"__Yes, Father.__"_

The shuriken had been a birthday present. She had been nine. Father had presented it to her solemnly, as all his actions had been ever since Mother had died. She, on the other hand, had been overjoyed. She had practiced with that shuriken every day for a month before the glamour had worn off. As her enthusiasm dwindled, so too did her practice, down to every other day, once a week, twice a month, never. She had not touched her shuriken in over a year.

But her body still remembered.

_Strike!_

As the bandit reached a hairy arm down to grab her, a flash of silver crossed across his arm, his chest, his throat. Slowly, almost as if unconnected to those moonbeam-like streaks, lines of red appeared across his body.

She remembered the first time she had killed a living thing. She had been young, scarce five or six years old, gazing up wonderingly at a bird flying so freely in the sky. It took only a single stone from her slingshot to drive the life from its body.

_Why?_

The bandit collapsed on top of her.

She had mourned the loss of that bird. She had held it in her hands, weeping, feeling as if her soul were being shred in two. Now she felt only numbness.

The other bandits were not to be taken by surprise like their leader. They fell on her like vultures to a long-dead animal, wresting her of her weapon and taking revenge on her for their comrade's death. They left her beaten, bruised, and bleeding, no longer able to hold back the tears.

_No!_

She did not stir for a long time after they had left, taking the body of their fallen leader with them. Then, slowly, she twitched. Shuddered. Lay still again. Her mind automatically assessed her injuries. Her body would bear the marks of the beating for a long time. If she was lucky, there would be no scars – she was vain enough not to want any more scars than she had to have. She was lucky enough as it was, she realized, that she was too young for them to be interested in taking any _other_ kind of satisfaction out on her already ravaged body.

She stirred again. Slowly, painfully, one eye already swollen shut from where a heavy fist had connected with it, she stretched one hand out to grasp the shuriken that her foes had tossed so carelessly in the mud. This had been a lesson, she decided. As night wrapped a blanket around her, she made herself a promise.

She would train. She would train harder and longer than she ever had before, until no mere _bandits_ would be able to call themselves her betters. She would become a master of the warrior craft. She would bring honor and glory to her father and her fallen country. She would retake all that had been stolen from her, reviving the spirits of her people with each victory she brought home. Her enemies would become her victims before they even knew she had struck.

_Like a shadow on the wind_, she thought, and smiled.

_I will do my ancestors proud._


End file.
